


Take My Picture

by GrimHeaperr



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Actor AU, Angst, Blood, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Keith whump, Knives, M/M, Major Character Injury, Stalking, fast pacing, gkVHFF, good luck, hurricane of changing tenses bc i suck, it all happens so fast, stalker au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 17:30:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16223894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrimHeaperr/pseuds/GrimHeaperr
Summary: Keith is an independent actor that has a history of being in indie horror films. When Keith’s home is broken in to, he finds that his fictional character’s life and his real life begin to blur. The villain is real… and he’s watching Keith.





	Take My Picture

**Author's Note:**

> The first fic for my [fic-fest](http://grimkohai.tumblr.com/post/178229608794/its-my-favorite-time-of-year-again-halloween)! It's not too late to participate ;3c
> 
> I hope y'all in enjoy this... it sounded a lot better in my head LOL!  
> Also, no beta I'll die like men.

On the third week of filming, Pidge presented Keith with a bouquet of flowers and a small, red envelope. The bouquet was a mix of red roses and sunflowers wrapped in bright yellow plastic. It was simple, and Keith loved simple.

“Uh,” Keith started. His emotions were compromised, but when he looked at Pidge, she gave him a flat look. He cleared his throat.  “Thanks, Pidge. I appreciate it.” She rolled her eyes before shoving the items onto Keith. Keith scrambled to make sure the bouquet didn’t fall, but the letter hit the muddy dirt. He could hear the grass crunch behind him.

“They’re not from me,” she stressed. “I spent my paycheck on rent and spare parts for my computer.”

Keith raised an eyebrow. “Then who’s it from?”

A voice cut in before she could answer. “I bet it’s from Shiro,” Lance cuts in, the smirk present before Keith can look at his face. A pang of annoyance shot through Keith as Lance reached over to pick up the letter. “Aw, it’s all dirty now, Keith! What would Shiro think?”

Keith fought the blush as he rolled his eyes. Pidge adjusted her glasses as she let them speculate.

“If it was from Shiro, he would’ve given it to me himself,” Keith says with false confidence.

“I kind of second that,” Hunk chimes in, “He totally seems the type.”

Lance shrugged and clicked his tongue. “You forget Shiro couldn’t tell Adam that he liked him and avoided it for months.”

Lance, Hunk, and Pidge looked thoughtful for a moment. The moment passed over Keith’s head.

Keith joined the friend group a few months ago; he and Pidge were extra bodies in a horror film, their names lost among the credits. They hit it off after talking for hours, fake-dead on fake blood.

From what Keith gathered through observation, Adam was Shiro’s Big Ex. So big that whenever his name came up, Shiro would transition from the topic of Adam to an unrelated one so smoothly that water rolled off the tension. Their fall out had been pretty bad if Matt’s testimony was anything. Adam got tired of Shiro being dedicated to his work but Shiro didn’t want to give up his dream. Their relationship was a rubber band that was stretched for too long. The resounding  _snap!_  was a late-night argument through a phone call off to the side of a movie lot and the red mark of its inflection was plastered on a niche tabloid. Keith remembered seeing the tabloid but that was months before Pidge introduced him to Shiro. The Shiro Keith knew didn’t match how their friends talked about him.

He always wanted to ask but he didn’t want to make Shiro uncomfortable. The question always burned on the tip of his tongue, but he was just some guy to Shiro, right? They’re friends. But not good enough of friends to be asking personal questions. Shiro stays out of Keith’s business, so he should do the same.

“Anyway,” Pidge said after a short pause, “I don’t know who they’re from. Rolo gave them to me saying they were for you. Apparently, a few fans have been watching filming outside the gate, and a fan recognized him from a photo on the movie’s Facebook page. And, well,” she gestured to the flowers and the letter, “He asked me to give them to you since we’re friends or whatever.”

Keith laughed. “Thanks, Pidge.”

Lance pouted. “I can’t believe you have a secret admirer while I haven’t received anything.”

“You got a box of chocolates and a ton of fan mail last movie,” Hunk said.

Lance blew a raspberry and waved a hand dismissively. He glided a manicured nail underneath the flap of the letter and tore it open. “That was the last movie.”

“Hey!” Keith tried to swipe the letter from Lance’s hands but Lance stepped out of reach. Keith’s shoes sank into the mud from the effort.

“No, no, no! We’re reading this here before cameras roll.” Keith sighed and let Lance do it, knowing the effort to stop him would land them in the dirt and piss off the director.

Hunk patted Keith’s shoulder. “Sorry, dude. He’s pretty nosey.”

“I kinda thought Hunk would’ve kept him distracted enough. Sorry, Keith.”

He shrugged and turned to Lance. Lance looked at him and then at the letter, then back again.

“Well?”

“This fan is popular and has no taste,” he said dismissively. He cleared his throat.

**Dear Mr. Kogane,**

**I first noticed you in the movie,** _**Olivia Dies By A Strike Through The Chest** _ **and have been following your work ever since. I run the blog, Niche Horror, and have done features of your movies since Olivia. Your acting is great for someone so new and I would like to do an interview with you in the future.**

**I hope you’re not allergic to roses or sunflowers.**

**Enclosed are my personal contact details,**

**J.C., Niche Horror.**

Keith tried to process the letter while his Pidge jumped, happy.

“Dude! Niche Horror wants to interview you! That’s like,  _the_  site for horror reviews and news. This could be your big break!”

“Don’t directors look at that stuff?” Hunk asked, scratching his beard.

Pidge nodded. “That’s how Coran found you guys. That, and myself of course.”

“I’m just gonna owe you for the rest of our lives huh?” Keith asked with humor. Pidge had gotten him his last to gigs as a secondary character and an extra with a few plot-heavy lines. Now she’s responsible for his first starring role.

Pidge smirked and adjusted her sunglasses, the dying light of the sunset reflecting an orange sheen that hid her eyes. “Or you can just hire me as your manager and we’ll call it even.”

Keith scoffed. He can barely afford his rent. “Yeah, I’ll keep you in mind.”

“Hands on set!” Coran called out, his voice impatient. PIdge turned around, her long hair whipping with her head. “We’re burning sunlight!”

A few people began to wander back to their positions as Pidge sighed. “Back to clapping and reading the call-sheet. Good luck, guys.”

Pidge waved as Hunk, Keith, and Lance returned to the small tent for the actors. Lotor was lounging on the couch, his long limbs stretched out.

“Oh? Did Shiro finally confess?”

Keith blushed as Lance barked out laughter.

“No,” Keith said pointedly and ignored Lance’s “It’s a shame.” “They’re from a fan.” Keith sat down on his designated stool and set the flowers on the makeshift vanity. He tucked the letter inside his backpack.

Lance clued Lotor in on Keith’s famous secret admirer as they got ready to film.

The movie was called BLOOD! and followed three characters — Nico, Raul, and Shaun — on a camping trip in a forest in a haunted forest. Keith’s character, Nico, was a skeptic and didn’t believe in ghosts. Lance and Hunk’s characters, Raul and Shaun, wanted to see if it was really haunted. Instead of finding a ghost, the friends find out about a man who lives in the woods. He’s a killer, and his first target is Raul. It’s a slasher film based off of  _Scream_  and  _Unfriended._  When Keith got the script, he watched stalker movies with Shiro until the older man tapped out halfway through  _Nightmare on Elm Street_ , the third movie in the lineup.

Shiro could never stomach horror movies like he could.

Filming went until a little after two in the morning. As a director, Coran had many ideas and they reshot a lot of scenes from different angles. “That’s a wrap!” came when they finished one of the major scenes — when Shaun noticed that they weren’t the only ones in the forest. Lotor was pissed that they called him in and he didn’t see any action until the last to hours, but it’s a low-budget film with an eccentric director.

Keith ignored Lotor and Lance’s complaints as he prepared to leave for the night.

“Keith, you still down to hang?”

Keith texted Shiro while he answered. “I was never down to hang.”

“You suck, Kogane.”

Keith shrugged.

 

**Shiro <3:**

**I can pick you up on set**

**Me:**

**Nah, usual place.**

**Shiro <3:**

**See you soon :-)**

Keith grabbed is bouquet and clocked out, handing over his time card to Pidge.

“You still got things to do?”

She nodded. “Yeah. I’m hanging back to help with tear down.” Keith opened his mouth to offer his help, but she shook her head. “I heard through the grapevine you’re meeting someone for a moonlit dinner.” She wiggled her eyebrows.

Keith rolled his eyes. “Matt is influencing you too much. It’s just dinner with a friend,” he stressed the last part but it left his heart aching. He couldn’t pinpoint the reason.

She honked out a laugh. “Yeah. Right. Enjoy your brinner, Kogane.”

Keith shifted the flowers so the leaves didn’t itch at his skin. “My what?”

She looked at him. “Brinner. Breakfast dinner.” The word  _obviously_  hung silently at the end. He shot her a look back.

“Right. See you later, Pidge.” She waved at him and walked out of the set through a side gate.

The diner he usually met Shiro at was a twenty-minute walk from the set. The cold night air nipped through his jacket, and by the time he got there, his fingers were numb.

Shiro waved him over, two-toned hair hidden beneath a black beanie, but stopped short noticing the flowers.

Shiro’s expression became complicated. He’s never seen him look like that before.

“A fan,” Keith supplied. Shiro’s mouth formed an “O” and he nodded. “Do you know that blog site, Niche Horror?”

“Yeah,” Shiro said as a waitress came and left to take their orders, “It’s that website that reviews horror movies.”

Keith sipped on his soda. “Right. Well, that’s who sent it.”

“J.C.?” Shiro asked in disbelief.

Keith tilted his head. “Yeah, you know him?” Shiro’s been in the game longer than he has, so it’s possible.

But Shiro shook his head. “I’ve seen him around after parties and award shows. Can’t say that I know him though.” The waitress brought their food.

Keith talked with his mouth full. “He asked me for an interview.”

Shiro blanched.

“He what?”

Keith swallowed the food along with a sick feeling beginning to pool in his stomach.  _Why did he react like that?_  “He asked me for an interview,” he repeated, slowly, watching Shiro’s expression.

He thought Shiro would be happy for him. Instead, he looked mildly concerned.

“What?”

Shiro looked thoughtful for a moment. His lips pursed as he looked around the empty diner — it was the two of them plus the overnight waitress, the cook, and the night manager.

“I haven’t... exactly heard good things about him.”

“What do you mean? Like, gossip?”

Shiro looked away for a moment before meeting Keith’s eyes again. “J.C. gets... weird with the people he interviews.”

“Like, what?”

Shiro hummed. “One of the girls mentioned that he would follow them around at parties to talk to them,” he said. “Even after they’d say no to an interview, he would follow them around and try to eavesdrop on conversations.”

“He sounds like a creep,” Keith said plainly. “Maybe I shouldn’t do the interview. I’d rather be in a movie about stalkers than be stalked.”

Shiro shrugged. “Maybe not, but it’ll be a great boost for your career.”

Keith offered his own shrug. “I’d rather not be tied to someone who stalks girls at parties.”

Shiro smiled in relief and nodded his agreement.

They talked about their relative movie sets the rest of the night; Keith told him about his work on BLOOD! while Shiro told him about wrapping up his romcom. Shiro’s movie was highly anticipated, and the advertisements caused Shiro a lot of distress in their friend group (Pidge and Hunk re-enacted Shiro’s confession seen in the trailer. Matt and Lance acted out the movements.). Keith laughed at Shiro’s embarrassment while Shiro slipped him a fond look.

Shiro popped the question when he dropped Keith off at his doorstep.

“Would you like to go to the premiere with me?”

Keith stopped trying to find his house key in the dark. “What?”

Shiro was looking directly at him, body silhouetted by the blue hue of the streetlight. He repeated the question, eye never looking away.

“Like, as friends?” He didn’t want to read too much into the confused expression.

“Sure.”

It didn’t sit right with Keith. Shouldn’t he take the leading actress? Isn’t that how it all worked? Why did he sound disappointed?

“You don’t have to,” Shiro said after a too-long pause. “No pressure.”

“Can I think about it?”

Shutter click.

Keith whipped his head toward the sound but saw nothing. The street was empty save for the car that normally parked outside his neighbor’s house.

“Did you hear that?” He turned to look at Shiro. The man’s attention was in the direction Keith looked.

“Probably paparazzi. Sorry, Keith. And yes, you can. Just text me, alright? The premiere is in two months. I’ll send you the date once it set.”

“Hopefully I’m not working that night.”

Shiro sighed, but the smile was still there. “Hopefully.”

Shutter click.

Shiro sighed, annoyed. “I’d shout at him if it wasn’t four in the morning. I’ll see you later, Keith.” Shiro hugged him, and Keith hugged back, enjoying the man’s warmth for a moment.

Keith’s heart hammered in his chest as he let himself inside. He waved to Shiro one last time before he pulled away. Keith shut the door but kept the lights off, creeping to his window and peeking through the blinds. He waited, watching for something to move.

_It’s paparazzi that probably followed Shiro,_  he told himself. After five minutes, a figure emerged from behind a parked car from across the street. The figure looked large and Keith caught the glint of the camera around the person’s neck. He didn’t see any defining features.

Keith showered and went to bed, thinking about the figure he saw across the street.

It was another week later that Keith told Shiro what he saw.

He was halfway through his burger when Shiro asked, “Did you ever see them again?”

Keith shook his head. He walks home were quick except for the occasional barking dog, but...

“I feel like I’m being followed,” he admitted. “Like I’ll be walking home and hear something but when I look, nothing is there. I think the whole thing made me paranoid.”

Shiro frowned and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, Keith. Maybe I shouldn’t have dropped you off.”

Keith shook his head. He cherished their time together without the rest of their busy-body friends. Keith feels like he could be himself around Shiro. “It’s fine, really. I’m just... not used to it.”

“Unfortunately, it comes with the territory. People will do anything for money.”

“If they did take anything good, we haven’t seen anything. Tabloids have been pretty quiet around you.”

“I’m not that popular.”

Keith gave him a flat look.

“What?” Shiro asked, mayo smudged on the side of his lips.

Keith tapped at his own lips where it would be. Shiro wiped it off with a napkin. “Says the guy who’s been on the cover of  _Sports Illustrated_  and  _Entertainment Weekly._ “ Keith laughed when Shiro blushed.

“You promised you wouldn’t talk about the  _Sports Illustrated_  thing.”

“Does Matt still have it framed?”

Shiro put his right arm on the table, a Metallica  _thud_  accompanied the movement. Shiro wiped his had down his face. “Matt keeps moving it around his house. The last time I went over, it was on the mantle next to a family photo.” Keith barked out a laugh, coarse and rough from disuse. “It’s not  _funny.”_

Keith had his own copy of the issue; The cover was in full color. Shiro was shirtless, muscles defined, with jeans that had the button and zipper undone, exposing purple plaid briefs. It was an image seared into his brain.

Keith would never tell Shiro, though. That was something he would take to his grave, along with the torch he carried for the man.

“It is and you know it.”

Shiro scowled. “It’s not.”

The rest of their dinner avoided the topic of Shiro’s popularity. Keith didn’t mind having his picture taken, but he wanted to consent to it first. There were a few photos of him with fans floating somewhere on the internet, and Shiro’s been followed by paparazzi for so long his home is guarded by a tall gothic gate. Shiro was too humble to admit he was popular. He was a rising star, but to Keith, he was already an A-List actor. The film Shiro was in now will get his name out there. It’s his first leading role that would see the inside of a movie theater, and Keith was so proud.

The two would help each other rehearse on their off days if they weren’t spent playing video games or hanging around their respective houses.

When Keith came back after spending the weekend at Shiro’s, Keith was welcomed at his vanity by boxes of chocolate and a large assortment of flowers. A red envelope sat on top of the chocolate.

“It’s pretty impressive, huh?” Lance said, coming up from behind him and propping his elbow on Keith’s shoulder.

“Is this more fan mail?” Keith asked, dumbfounded. He could see a red envelope stuck between flower stems.

“Yup,” Lance popped the ‘p’, “You better thank Rolo and Pidge because they’re the ones who carried it for you.”

Keith had forgotten about it halfway through filming, head buried in change pages. Coran finalized the latter part of the movie. Nico would discover the stalker first and chase after him. He’d lose him in the thick of the forest, but when he would turn around, the stalker would grab him and drag him away. The stalker would kill for the sake of killing, but killing Nico and his friends would be necessary to keep his identity a secret. Raul would be the one to kill the stalker instead of Nico as originally planned.

“Hey.”

Keith looked up and met Pidge’s bespectacled face. “I accepted the interview for you.”

“You  _what.”_

She frowned. “I accepted the interview for you. J.C. Is the one who left you those flowers. I got to talk to him for a bit and he seemed like an honest guy. He’s really passionate about getting actors’ names out there. this will be good for you.”

Keith glared at her. She had no right to accept the offer. He didn’t need “help” getting his name out there, especially not from some creep.

“I can get my name out there just fine, thanks.” He replied coldly.

“Keith, he’s the biggest name in horror right now,” she reasoned, “He’ll get you a prime spot for sure if he features you on his site. What’s your deal?”

Keith took a deep breath to calm himself. “You can’t decide things for me, Pidge. You’re not my manager. You don’t even know my schedule or what the guy is actually like.”

It was Pidge’s turn to glare. “What do you mean? You met him before?” She knew the answer.

“No,” he said curtly, “Shiro... mentioned that the guy isn’t too pleasant to be around.”

“What do you mean?” She asked. They all worshiped the blog, including Keith himself, but ever since Shiro mentioned how J.C. acts he hasn’t been keeping up with it as much. He threw out the letter and let the flowers die in the trash when he got home that night he received them.

“He apparently stalks people to get information, like, at parties or whatever. Shiro didn’t say much but that was the gist.”

Pidge reeled. “What? Seriously? That’s  _so_  disappointing.” Keith shrugged. “I was kinda hoping he wasn’t one of those you know?” She groaned. “Whatever. I told him you’d contact him, anyway. I didn’t give out your number.”

Keith relaxed. “Thanks, Pidge. I kinda figured you wouldn’t do something like that anyway.”

Pidge put a hand over her heart and tried her best to act shocked. Keith’s lips twisted upward. “You trust me that much?”

Keith pretended to think about it. “Not really.”

Pidge whacked him with the call list for today.

When filming ended, Keith was covered in grass, dead leaves, and dirt. His body ached from fake fighting with Lotor and “dying” left a chill on his body that didn’t go away in the warmth of the tent. Before he left for the day, Keith gave the flowers to Coran as thanks, gave the chocolate to Lance who had begged him for some during their break, and tore the letter in half before throwing it away.

Another two weeks passed by uneventfully. Keith had done additional dialogue recording some days with the rest of the main cast while other days they reshot some scenes due to bad footage outtake. The whole editing process took a month after Coran said there wasn’t much left to shoot, He met up with Shiro for their weekly outings all the while, and his mouth always hurt from smiling afterward.

A week shy before filming ended, Keith was greeted by the sight of flowers on his doorstep. They stood in the middle, a glass vase holding them together. From what he could see at the edge of his lawn, they were roses and sunflowers.

A cold fear climbed through him as his breath caught in his throat. He looked around his neighborhood for a sign of...  _anything._  He checked under the cars with the flashlight on his phone, checked the side of his house and set off several neighbors’ floodlights searching for someone who could be lurking nearby. He debated on calling Shiro, but the man was most likely asleep after coming back from an interview three states away.

Keith picked up the bouquet and entered his house. When he flipped on his main light, a brick of fear slammed into his stomach.

He vaguely heard glass break and feel a cold wetness seep into his shoes.

Everything in his house was trashed. His coffee table and kitchen chairs were thrown over. His living room was covered in his dirty laundry. His favorite mug was smashed on the tile floor of his kitchen and all his drawers and been broken on the floor, his silverware and other kitchen supplies scattered. His bathroom was a mess of shards from his mirror, liquids, the various cold medicine he kept, and his shampoo and conditioners had been squirted out of their bottles and onto every surface. He dreaded walking into his bedroom.

His clothes were scattered on the floor and his mattress had been flipped over and torn open, exposing the sponge and springs of it. His magazines were ripped apart and his books had pages torn out of them. The clothes in his closet were flung haphazardly throughout the room and his dresser drawers were all slightly ajar.

He stewed in stunned silence at it all.

When he snapped out of it, he called the cops, then Shiro. When Shiro didn’t answer, Keith sent him four text messages in succession:

 

**Me:**

**Someone broke into my house and trashed everything.**

**I don’t even wanna see what was stolen.**

**This sucks Shiro I don’t wanna deal with this.**

**There were fucking flowers on my doorstep.**

He sat on his couch, waiting. Waiting for something to happen. To wake up. His stomach felt heavy and his eyes were beginning to droop, but he couldn’t sleep. He took in slow breathes to ease his paranoia.

He jumped out of his skin when someone knocked on his door.

Keith opened the door, expecting the police officers. Instead, Shiro stood on the other side. His car was parked hastily in his driveway; crooked and front tire slightly on Keith’s dead lawn. Shiro was in his black, plush slippers and red plaid pajamas. A hoodie covered his torso from the cold and his hair was unkempt.

Keith felt tears prick and he slammed into Shiro, trembling.

Shiro held him like that until the cops came. Keith answered every question, sitting on his couch with Shiro holding his hand. Unfortunately, they couldn’t do anything. Nothing looked stolen: his television and laptop were still in his home. When he asked who could’ve done this, he mentioned J.C. And the flowers. However, there weren’t any witnesses and Keith downplayed his own suspicions. The cops left after making a report, leaving Shiro and Keith alone in the gutted home.

Shiro ran his prosthetic thumb over Keith’s hand, gently massaging in small, soothing circles. “We can clean this up later today if you want after we get some rest.”

Keith’s anger was muted by his shock. Who would do something like this? He wasn’t on any radar. He didn’t exactly live in a good neighborhood, but no one’s house has ever been broken into.

Keith shook his head. “No. I want to.. just get this over with. You can leave if you need to.”

“I’m not leaving.”

Keith looked away from his lap and up to Shiro. His onyx eyes were soft and held a familiar feeling in them, but Keith was too scared to name it. Shiro didn’t love him, at least, not how Keith did.

Keith sniffled then let out a long sigh. “Shiro... I —“ he swallowed the lump in his throat, “Thank you. For being here. For coming. For —“ Keith squeezed his eyes shut. “Everything.”

Shiro pulled him into a hug. Strong arms engulfed him again for the second time that morning. He kissed Keith’s temple. “I’ll always be here for you, Keith. Always.”

Keith nodded and hugged him back. Shiro was the nicest man he’s ever met, and the first of Keith’s friends to be there for him like this. He hated being vulnerable in front of others, but with Shiro, it was like coming home from a week on a stormy sea.

When they pulled apart, the two men got to work.

Shiro gathered all the clothes while Keith grabbed a trash bag. Keith threw away everything that was broken and made mental notes of what he had to save up for and what he could get from the dollar store. Shiro said he could fix his kitchen drawers and replace the mirror in the bathroom. Keith used duct tape to cover the holes in his mattress. He shoved the torn pages of his books back into him, promising to fix them later. He threw away his magazines. The morning sun was above the horizon when the two men finished cleaning and Keith’s house looked somewhat how it used to. Shiro helped Keith take out the trash and reorganize everything.

When the two decided to go to bed, Keith flopped down on his pillow and his face crunched something that was hidden in his pillowcase.

Shiro watched curiously as Keith pulled it out.

It was a thick manila envelope.

“Is that yours?”

Keith shook his head. He felt Shiro climb into bed with him as he opened the small clasp. When he took out his contents, his heart stopped.

They were photographs. The first one was taken from afar, Keith’s back turned as he got into a cab. The next one was of him sitting at the diner, smiling. Another photo was of him on the set of the last movie he was in, talking to the director and producer.

He was petting a cat.

He was hugging Shiro.

He was changing in his living room.

Sitting on his bed reading a book.

His house.

His friends.

Shiro.

Shiro.

Shiro.

Shiro and Keith.

Keith felt bile rise in his throat.

“Keith?”

His fingers trembled over the last photograph. It was nighttime and his back was facing the camera. He had his headphones on as he was opening his door.

Whoever took these photos had been at the edge of Keith’s walkway. They were  _right there_  and Keith doesn’t remember anything.

Shiro took the photos from his hands. Keith numbly heard him call someone and heard a knock on his door. Their voices were low as Keith sat in his bedroom, spaced out, thinking of what he could do next.

He can’t afford a security system. He hasn’t carried his mother’ knife on him, but now he’ll have to. The person knew where he lived, knew how to get into his house. He’d have to change the locks, try and find something to help his windows stay down. He —

Shiro entered the room again, this time with his gym bag, empty of its contents.

“Let’s take what you need for a month. You can stay at my place until the police find something.”

Keith nodded but didn’t move. His hands felt numb from where they touched the photos and his body felt like lead from exhaustion. Shiro coaxed him up with encouraging words.

They stuff Keith’s duffle and the gym bag with his clothes. His favorite shirt was missing; it wasn’t even in the dirty laundry. His red and black briefs were gone along with his maroon sweats.

Whoever did break in stole a few articles of his clothing.

Keith didn’t want to think about it or mention it to Shiro.

When they were done, Shiro carried Keith’s things and his backpack to his car. His hand was on Keith’s thigh the whole ride over, and slowly, anger replaced the numbing shock.

It was late afternoon when they finally went to bed. Keith was plagued by nightmares that sounded like the shutter of a camera.

Shiro drove Keith to his set a few days later. He convinced the director and the producer to let Keith have a few days off. When he explained what happened, the director allowed it and said they needed to reshoot some scenes with the supporting characters anyway.

He took care of Keith for those few days. He took him to the gym to let out his anger, fixed his kitchen drawers and order him a new mattress. He tangled his fingers in Keith’s hair when they marathoned movies every night. He wanted Keith to feel safe again, despite everything that happened. The police haven’t come across anything and their stakeouts were fruitless.

It was frustrating.

“Call me when you get off. I’ll pick you, okay.”

Keith nodded. He grabbed his backpack from his feet and put his hand on the door handle. Shiro waited for him to leave, but when he didn’t —

“Keith?”

Keith leaned over the middle console and wrapped his arms around Shiro’s neck. Shiro made a surprised squeak but wrapped his arms around his friend’s waist.

_Friend, friend, friend._

“Thank you, Shiro,” he rasped. Shiro’s heart fluttered. “For everything.”

Shiro brought his flesh hand up to the back of Keith’s head, petting down his curls. “Don’t mention it, Keith. I’ll always be there for you.”

Briefly, he remembered saying the same thing to Adam many months ago, but this was different. Keith was different.

“Thank you.” With one last squeeze, Keith left and promised to call.

Shiro returned to his gated home and spent his day answering emails and phone calls. He went onto Niche Horror and scrolled to find the contact information.

He sent an email to J.C. and told him to stay away from Keith.

He wasn’t being possessive, but it’s easy to say that whoever broke into Keith’s home was probably the guy with stalker tendencies. He left the same bouquet on his doorstep, the first one Keith received on set.

It was well past two a.m. when Shiro’s phone rang. A selfie of him and Keith popped up.

“You ready?” He asked, shifting is laptop off of him and stretching. When Keith didn’t answer, an alarm went off in his head. “Keith?”

There was a grunt and a hard  _thud._

“Keith!?”

“He isn’t yours.” A voice croaked out, familiar. Dread settled on Shiro’s body as he grabbed his keys and flew out the door,

“Leave him —“ the line went dead. Shiro kept calling Keith’s phone as he pulled out of his driveway. When it stopped ringing, Shiro slammed his hands on the wheel in frustration. He called Katie.

“Katie, have you seen Keith?”

“I thought he just left with you? That wasn’t your car?” Shiro cursed. “Shiro, what’s happening?”

“I think that Niche Horror guy is stalking Keith. That’s probably who he got in the car with.”

“What?” Her voice cracked. “Please tell me your joking.”

Shiro sped through a yellow light. “I’m not. Keith’s house was broken into a few days ago. There were flowers on his doorstep.”

Pidge cursed. “I’m going to tell Lance and Hunk. Fuck it. The whole crew. We’ll find him, Shiro.”

Shiro pulled into the street where the filming was happening. He recognized the white iron fence and could see the lights of the film crew.

“Did you see which way the car drove off?”

“It drove past the set.”

“I’m going to look for that guy.”

“I’ll call the police and tell the guys.”

Shiro ignored his phone calls and text messages as he combed the streets for his own car. The neighborhoods yielded no results nor did the parking lots of businesses. He tried calling Keith again and immediately got his automatic voicemail. He kept calling, hoping,  _wishing_  that he would hear Keith’s voice on the other side.

Matt’s ringtone cut through the tense silence of his car.

“I think I found him, Shiro.”

His hearted squeezed. He willed his hand not to do the same to his phone. “Where?”

“56 Manor Road. I’m, I’m not too sure though. How many people in the world have your car?” Matt laughed nervously.

“Where’s that at?” Shiro tried pulling a mental map of the town, but he’s never heard of that street before.

“It’s past the train tracks,” that’s a ten-minute drive from where he was at, “and it’s like, an abandoned mini-mart.”

“I’m on my way.”

Shiro sped past intersections and yellow lights. He carefully made sure he wasn’t going to cause an accident in his haste. When he arrived, he saw Matt’s van parked at the end of the street. He pulled up next to him and killed his headlights.

He waved over to Pidge who was in the passenger seat.

“I called the police but the dispatch said that it’ll be a while before anyone comes.”

“Are you sure about this?”

Pidge and Matt looked at each other. “Your car isn’t that common, but common enough. It even has your lion decal on the back window.” Shiro gripped the steering wheel and gritted his teeth.

“What the deal with this guy, anyway?”

“He’s been wanting to interview Keith for a month now. Keith’s been ignoring him,” Pidge supplied. She wiped her hand across her face. “I’m the one who told the dude Keith old do a solo interview. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s not your fault,” Matt told her, “No one knew this dude was like that.”

“Shiro did.”

He didn’t look at the siblings as he squinted down the street. The mini-mart had its windows boarded up and the door behind burglar bars.

“I’m the one that told Keith what I heard about the guy.”

“We should’ve known something was up when Keith kept getting flowers.”

“What?” Shiro turned to look at her and Katie raised an eyebrow at him.

“J.C. Kept sending Keith bouquets when he was gone. We threw them away.”

Shiro turned his attention back to the mini-mart. “I’m going in.”

“Are you nuts? You don’t know if this guy has a gun or something!”

“Just wait for the cops, Shiro. I’m sure they’ll be here soon.”

Shiro remembered how helpful they were when Keith made his first report, then how another officer took the photos and promised to get back to them but never did.

“We don’t know if he’s hurt. I’d rather take that risk to save Keith.” Shiro rolled up his windows and parked in front of the Holt’s van. He got out and heard Pidge and Matt get out too.

As a group, they walked down the deserted street and came to a stop outside the mini-mart. They couldn’t hear anything and when Shiro opened grabbed the handle of the door, it opened with a squeak. He waited for a sign of movement but heard nothing.

Dust floated around the store. It smelled like rotten sweets and soured fruit. Litter covered the ground and a few newspapers were scattered. Shiro stepped inside when they heard a yelp.

Shiro’s heart beat against his chest as they rounded to the side. A light was on at the end of the short hallway. Shiro turned around and brought a finger to his lips. He motioned for the Holts to stay there.

He crept down the hallway and winced when he heard Keith scream again, rough and scratchy.

“Are you ready for your interview, Keith? I’ve been waiting for so long.”

“Fuck you,” Keith gasped. Shiro peered over the side and saw that a man about his height and build stood in front of Keith, a knife that emitted smoke in his hands. He couldn’t see Keith but saw that his ankles were tied together.

“That’s not what I wanted to hear,” the man laughed. “You’re pretty popular in the scene right now, you’d definitely boost my viewers, and you’re not bad to look at either.”

Shiro balled his hand into a fist.

“You look pretty with that gash on your face. Do you think Shiro will still like you if it scars?”

Shiro felt his heart beat harshly in his chest.  _What?_

“He likes me as a friend and if you think he cares about vanity, you’re wrong.”

“You’re right. Shiro has his own scars, doesn’t he?”

“Fuck you,” He watched as Keith struggled against the ropes around his ankles. “You don’t know him.”

“From the sound of it, you don’t either. You hang out every week to eat after filming, you’re always at his house, and something tells me when you smile at your phone it's because of him.”

“You don’t know that,” Keith said weakly. How long has this guy been stalking him?

He laughed. “Please. I’ve been following you since you started BLOOD! There’s no need to lie, Keith. I know everything about you.” Shiro watched as the guy leaned in closer and raised the knife.

“Hey!” Shiro yelled. The startled and turned.

Shiro brought his metal fist back and slugged him on the side of his face. J.C. crumpled to the ground with a sharp grunt. A camera was smashed under him, the bits of it exploding underneath the man’s weight.

Keith looked at him with red-rimmed eyes. An angry, red burn was slashed across his right cheek, bleeding and blistering on his pale face. Shiro opened his mouth to say Keith’s name, but he was shoved to the side.

A hard body pressed into him and Shiro covered his face as the blade came down. It clanked against the prosthetic and bent inward, the experimental metal stronger than the steel of the blade. Shiro shoved the man to the side. Shiro grabbed J.C.’s wrist hard enough that he dropped the knife.

Pidge ran in and kicked it; it’s metallic clang bouncing off the far wall.

he next few moments were a blur. Shiro was ripped away from the man as two officers flipped J.C. over and handcuffed him. He heard the mention of reporters but turned his attention back to Keith.

Matt was untying him from the chair as he was being questioned by another officer. Shiro helped Keith out of the chair and lead him outside where an ambulance was waiting on the curb.

Shiro urged him toward it.

Keith planted his feet. “I’m fine, Shiro. It’s just a burn.” Shiro doesn’t know what look he gave Keith, but it made the smaller man freeze.

“Please,” Shiro begged, voice low and quiet.  He failed Keith. He should have got there sooner. Intervene immediately. 

Keith nodded. Shiro followed Keith and watched as he was patched up.

The rest of the night was a blur of statements and cameras in his face.

 

“At least the publicity for the movie is free,” Lance said as he looked at the cover of the tabloid. He had it in his hands as he sat eating his lunch.

The cover showed Shiro holding Keith’s hand as he got patched up by an EMT, whose face was blurred. On the lower left-hand side was a photo of J.C. being shoved into the back of a police car.  **TERROR IN THE NIGHT!**  was strewn across the front page with blurbs about what happened to the “up and coming star of BLOOD!, Keith Kogane.”

“What a silver lining,” Keith deadpanned. His scar itched, but he kept his arms crossed. 

“I hope the guy gets beat up in jail,” Hunk said. Lance hummed in agreement.

“Did you see his website yet?”

“No,” Keith said curtly.

Hunk pulled it up on his phone and showed Keith.

The website link took them to an exposé on J.C.

“Pidge hacked the website so that it takes his viewers to the article. HIs career is ruined.”

“Good,” Keith yawned. “I need to thank her.”

“No need, what are friends for?” Her voice came from behind him. She sat down next to him, legs crossed and hair frizzy from working. “Plus, I think this whole ordeal helped you act in the movie.”

“Kinda scary that you shot a stalker movie while dealing with an actual stalker,” hunk said thoughtfully. “Like, what are the odds?”

Keith shrugged. “I’m sure worse has happened from other people.”

“What did Shiro say about the whole thing?” Pidge asked. “You guys kinda kept to yourselves that night, and he’s been avoiding Matt’s questions.

Keith thought back on that night. After he was patched up, Shiro took them back to Shiro’s house. The man had stroked the bandaged on his face gently, his thumb ghosting it but never touching. Keith let Shiro kiss the area around it, and the two cried together. Keith thought he was going to die; J.C. told him that Keith couldn’t leave and ruin his career. If it wasn’t for Shiro, he’d probably be dead.

_“I’m sorry I didn’t get there sooner,” Shiro said through tears. “I should’ve got there earlier. I should’ve waited for you to get off of the set. I should’ve—“_

_“Shiro,” he said softly, “Nothing is your fault. You saved me. You came just in time,” he assured him Shiro looked away and glared at his floor. “If you didn’t come in when you did, I’d probably have a slash on my face, or worse.”_

_Keith swallowed his fear as he closed the distance between them. He tip-toed to bury his face in the crook of Shiro’s neck. He felt him tense but Keith stayed still until Shiro wrapped his arms around his waist._

_Shiro slipped his thumbs underneath Keith’s shirt and massaged circles into his hips. The gesture sent a flame through Keith’s body and he sighed._

_“I love you, please don’t blame yourself,” he whispered, voice cracking on three little words._

_Shiro brought his hands from Keith’s hips to gently cup Keith’s face. Shiro searched his eyes for something, anything, and when Keith nodded, Shiro pressed their lips together._

“He blamed himself but it’s not his fault.” The air tensed. “It’s no one’s fault.” He looked to Pidge and she leaned against his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her. “On the bright side, I think the scar adds to my charm.”

“You already look like a prickly person. Now you’ll never make any friends.” Lance joked weakly.

Keith huffed out a laugh and flicked a piece of lettuce at him. He yelped when it landed on his pant leg, the mayo from Keith’s sandwich creating an oily spot.

“If that stains, you’re paying for it,” Lance said swatting it off of him. The grouped laughed as Coran called for everyone to return.

They celebrated at the end of filming, finally wrapping up the reshoots and re-recorded dialogue. The producer and owner of the property, Allura, invited everyone inside and threw a party for the cast and crew,

Keith told Shiro to come to get after an hour, and the two left with a plate of finger food and two sodas.

A few of Keith’s boxes were still boxed up in Shiro’s living room, but they ignored them in favor of curling up on the couch and watching a mecha show on Netflix. Keith fell asleep to Shiro stroking his hair.


End file.
